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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954458">A smile like sunshine</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/raaindropps/pseuds/raaindropps'>raaindropps</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Sanders Sides (Web Series)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Anachronism, I really like giving roman a dress apparently, sanders si</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-02 15:02:33</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>890</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23954458</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/raaindropps/pseuds/raaindropps</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Roman throws a letter in a bottle out into the ocean, Virgil finds it. But they've met a thousand times before.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Anxiety | Virgil Sanders/Creativity | Roman Sanders/Dark Creativity | Remus Sanders</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>27</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>A smile like sunshine</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Warnings: Death of a parent, mention of a gunshot</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dear Stranger,</p><p>It started with a letter. On snow-white paper contrasting against the black calligraphy settled on top. Written back when Roman was still in ninth grade. A feeble, 14-year-old boy with golden-red curls and a smile like sunshine. Roman, who was the biggest flirt even then. Roman, who ran with bare feet on the fading sun, he legs becoming dirty with sand. Roman, who, in a sudden wave of impulse, wrote a letter in a bottle and tossed it out to the ocean.</p><p>I hope this letter finds you in good health, whoever you may be.</p><p>It started with a pair of shoes. Black, second-hand combat boots that were really the worst thing to wear on fine sand. Owned by Virgil (who realized this and promptly threw them across the beach). Virgil, now a man- if you could call him that- of eighteen. Virgil, who hid behind shit-eating grins and spikes on his clothes. Virgil, who always seemed to have that snarky comeback that made teachers roll their eyes. Virgil, who, instead of taking hold of his shoes, ended up grabbing a glittering bottle on the shore.</p><p>Speaking of that- nice to meet you!</p><p>It continued with a red dress. One Roman saw  when he was sixteen. It was in the charity shop and he the second he saw it, the dress was in his arms. The hem had rips and tears in it, its sleeves seemed stiff, the design was plain, and it was the best thing Roman had worn. It felt like reading a poem where all the words fit together. Like a puzzle fitting right into place. Like something that was just... Right. On the way out the store Roman noticed a boy about his age looking at a mural with a sense of accomplishment. "Cool painting," Roman muttered as he walked by. "Cool dress," The other boy responded in an instant. And then they departed.</p><p>I hope to talk with you someday! I guess you can find me at...</p><p>It continued with painting. Something Virgil had always been good at. As in, asked-to-paint-a-charity-shop good. He could use the money and it wasn't like he had much going on that summer, so Virgil agreed. It was a design of his own making. Something of color and something like love in it. A patchwork of constellations and greenery over the ocean. The result was stunning. "Cool painting" a voice sounded behind him. Virgil turned to see a boy in a red dress with morning dew for eyes and sunlight for a smile, "Cool dress," He barely managed to say with confidence. And then the boy left.</p><p>How are you? And WHO are you? So many questions...</p><p>And furthermore with a sirens. The type that come an go for hours as you wonder what atrocity could have happened to warrant them. They came as Roman had just begun to sleep, far past two am. Ambulances stood waiting like shattered glass at a house just near Roman's. He watched as someone was run into the ambulance, a boy his age standing frozen beside them. He didn't sleep that night.</p><p>How's life for you? I'd say mine is pretty well.</p><p>And furthermore with a gunshot. But all Virgil could hear were the screams of his father telling him not to come in. The world crumpled like paper as the EMTs brought his mother out on a stretcher. Virgil caught the eyes of a boy in a red dress across the street, staring at the scene in horror. He couldn't sleep that night.</p><p>Are you a guy? are you cute? I hope so.</p><p>It kept on with a smile. Not one like sunshine and honeybees. The smile didn't have water droplets on the edges or gold lining the edges. It was the water after a hurricane. Something like worry and something like curiosity. Roman saw it in passing, sitting on a boy from his neighborhood. The boy was moving away. He'd miss that smile.</p><p>I guess I should wrap this up soon.</p><p>It kept on with worry. Virgil wasn't happy, no. Who would be with his mother freshly dead and having to move across the country because of it? But he had to look like he was. He saw the boy from before walking the street. He didn't have a smile. Virgil had never seen the boy less than happy. He already missed the smile.</p><p>have a lovely day or night!</p><p>It ended with a sunset. By this time Roman was eighteen. He'd long forgotten about the message in a bottle he through into the lake he sat at nearing four years ago. By now he was a bit stronger, a bit smarter. He didn't walk with bare feet over the land- too many scrapes. His sunlight smile was dimming. Not quickly, though. The world still looked lovely through his morning dew eyes. And then all of the sudden his phone dinged.</p><p>Sincerely, Roman.</p><p>It ended with a full moon. A letter in a bottle in the dim light. Virgil, still eighteen, was hesitant to message this supposed Roman. a silent breeze ran over his neck like a glacier had formed. The hurricane had subsides in him, leaving unsure waters through his veins. The moon watched over, her eyes urging Virgil on. He typed in the e-mail address.</p><p>Hey! I'm Virgil,</p>
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